Fire Girl (4 page)

‘What,’ said Bramley in a squeaky voice, ‘is
that
?’

They looked up at an immense hedge, stretching out of sight in both directions, as tall and solid as a Bronze Age earthwork. Glossy leaves overlapped like dragon scales, and brambles with
inch-long thorns threaded through the foliage like parasitic worms.

‘The Border Hedge,’ Hazel whispered. ‘It surrounds the Glade. There’re no gaps or gates in it – believe me, I’ve looked hard enough.’

‘You never tried to cut your way through?’

Hazel shuddered. ‘That would be very dangerous.’

‘Why?’ Bramley said, sniffing the air suspiciously. ‘It’s only a plant.’

‘Not just any plant. Ma enchanted it to keep things out of the Glade.’

‘Oh. What sort of things?’

‘She never told me. Bad things, I suppose.’ Hazel rubbed a leaf between her thumb and finger; it felt warm and waxy. ‘Sometimes I think I can hear it breathing, almost like
it’s alive. Can you feel it?’

‘What nonsense!’ Bramley squeaked, diving behind Hazel’s ear and trembling.

‘Look,’ Hazel said, spotting a buckled mass of branches near the ground. ‘This is where the demon must have come through.’

She lowered her hood, shook out her red curls, then crouched down to peer through the hole in the hedge. As her eyes adjusted she saw an endless labyrinth of vicious-looking brambles fading to
darkness. She rocked back on her heels. ‘But how did it get past the enchantment? Only Ma and Mary know the spells to grant safe passage.’

‘Please tell me there’s another way through,’ Bramley said. ‘Dormice are allergic to the dark. It makes us come out in bumps.’

‘I thought dormice were nocturnal?’ murmured Hazel, frowning into the dark.

‘Well, not this one!’

Hazel gently plucked the tiny mouse from behind her ear and held him up to her face. ‘I don’t have any choice, Bramley. I’m going in and that’s the end of it. If you want
to stay behind . . . well, this is your last chance.’

Bramley huffed but didn’t say anything.

‘Right then.’ She tucked him securely into a small pocket at the top of her cloak and took a final look back at the Glade.

Her heart broke for the second time that day; the landscape she loved was lost behind a drab curtain of steel-grey rain, and her mother’s magic that had fed the plants and flowers was
being washed away into the mire. The end of the Glade had come, wrapped in a cloak of cloud and thunder.

I’ll be back
, she thought, and like a swimmer preparing for a dive, took a deep breath and plunged into the Border Hedge.

The air turned humid as she forced her way through the outer skin of leaves into the Hedge’s innards. She groped forward, straining her eyes against the gloom, keeping one arm above her
head to keep trailing brambles out of her face.

Bramley’s muffled voice emerged from the pocket. ‘In the unlikely event of us ever making it out of this hedge, what can we expect to find on the other side?’

‘England.’

‘What’s an “England”?’

‘It’s not an “an”, it’s an “a”. A country.’

‘Oh,’ Bramley said. ‘And how big is
a
England?’

Hazel frowned as she forced her way through a tangled net of foliage. ‘I don’t know. Ouch! Damn these brambles.’

‘And you’ve never been there?’

‘No,’ she said, wiping away a trickle of blood from the back of her hand. ‘Ma created the Glade before I was born.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know,’ Hazel said. ‘She never told me, even though I asked her loads of times.’ A fiery anger welled up within her as she thought of all the secrets her
mother had kept.
Clearly she didn’t trust me at all.

The further Hazel went, the more cramped the tunnel became, forcing her to stoop even lower. Stinging sweat ran into her eyes. The treacle-thick air was getting harder to breathe. Something
creaked close by; it sounded like a noose being twisted. A coil of fear tightened in her stomach. Vines pulsed, drawing closer together, shutting out the last glimmers of light.

‘Bramley?’

‘Yes?’

‘Did those vines move because I disturbed them, or . . . ?’

‘
Or
. . . ?’

‘Or did they move on their own accord?’ Hazel glanced over her shoulder. ‘I can’t see the way back,’ she said. ‘The passage has closed up.’

‘Then stop bleating and
move
.’

‘It’s swallowing us,’ she moaned, turning on the spot. ‘The Hedge knows we’re here. It isn’t going to let us out. We’re trapped—’

With the sound of a whip crack, a vine lashed out and sliced her cheek. Hazel fell backwards with a cry.

‘Hazel,’ Bramley squeaked, tugging her ear. ‘For pity’s sake, run!’

Fear gave Hazel the strength to shove her way through the criss-crossed web of vines, but she knew she would not get far. The Hedge had them in its grip and wasn’t going to let them
go.

We’re going to die in here
, she thought
,
her breath coming in panicked gasps.

Brambles tangled in her hair and snaked around her throat. She squealed as a root emerged from the ground and wrapped itself around her ankle, sending her sprawling face first to the ground. She
lay in the suffocating darkness as the constricting weave of brambles closed in, gulping and squirming like an eel on a dried-up riverbed. The bramble around her neck drew tight, biting into her
skin.

‘I can’t . . .
breathe
. . .’

Bramley scuttled out from her hair and pinched the tip of her nose with his claws. ‘Listen to me,’ he said. ‘Use your fire-magic – it’s our only chance.’

‘I can’t,’ Hazel wheezed. ‘I don’t know how.’

‘Think back, how did you feel when you first let the fire out?’

Hazel closed her eyes, remembering . . . ‘Anger. I felt so
angry
.’

‘Then feel it again.’

‘I . . . I’m too afraid.’

Bramley’s fur ignited and the brambles flinched away from the heat. ‘So you’re giving up?’ he said. ‘
Pathetic
. Look at you – call yourself a
Wielder?’ Hazel yelped as he pinched her nose again. ‘You’re nothing but a silly little girl. Your mother’s better off without you.’

‘Stop it!’

‘Not until you
fight
!’

Hazel screamed with rage as magic erupted from her skin, lighting up the darkness and burning the vines away. Eyes wide and shining, Bramley clambered back into her hair.

‘That’s it, witch-child,
burn it all down
.’

Hazel struggled to her feet, breathing hard. Wreathed in flames and smoke, she took a step forward, then another. Foliage melted away as she advanced, whipping back into the shadows to escape
her fury. Snake-like roots retreated underground, leaves quivered and burned to ash.

‘Come on, Hazel,’ Bramley cried. ‘We’re nearly there. Don’t give up now.’

Hazel staggered on, feeling her anger wane, her flames turning red like dying embers in a hearth, until, with a final effort she forced her head and shoulders through the scorched leaves and out
into the open. Gasping for air, she dragged her legs clear of the Hedge and flopped on to the ground. As her eyes rolled up in their sockets, the final flames around her guttered and went out.

After the Witch War, England’s witches fled to the

wild parts of the land. It is best to avoid such places,

unless travelling with adequate protection.

The Prudent Traveller
by Gerhardt Ohler

‘W
ake up, Hazel,
wake up.
There’s something coming.’ Hazel forced her eyes to open. Wet, cold and covered in scratches, it
took her a moment to realize she was in a forest, lying half submerged in a pile of damp leaves by the towering Border Hedge.

A creaking roof of interlocking branches arched high overhead. Shafts of grey light cut through the leaves to the forest floor, and lumps of fungi like melted wax clung to tree trunks, glowing
with an eerie green light. The air was heavy with mist, but at least the rain had stopped.

‘How long was I asleep?’ Hazel mumbled.

‘Hours,’ Bramley said, fidgeting by her ear. ‘I thought you’d never wake up. Now hide, for goodness sake.’

Hazel winced as she stood up. ‘Oh, my poor head . . . it’s pounding. And my mouth tastes of ashes. I didn’t know using magic would be so painful.’ She wrapped her cloak
tighter around her shoulders. ‘I’m outside the Glade. I can hardly believe it.’

‘Stop being so dozy and
listen
to me,’ Bramley yelled, giving her ear a nip. ‘Something’s coming. Can’t you smell it?’

Hazel sniffed; under the smell of earth and leaves drifted the unmistakable tang of blood. ‘The demon – it’s come back.’ Her skin crawled.

‘That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,’ Bramley said. ‘Now
hide
before it finds you.’

Hazel limped across the clearing, searching for somewhere to conceal herself.

‘In there, in
there
,’ Bramley squeaked – tugging her ear until she spotted the hollow trunk of an ancient oak tree.

She ducked inside and out of sight. Insects crawled through the flaky wood as Hazel put her eye to an empty knothole and peered out. Leaves drifted down and settled on the ground. The forest
held its breath. Silence fell.

Hazel stifled a gasp as something moved through the mist and stopped by the Border Hedge. The smell of blood caught in her throat, making her gag.

It’s here
. . . she thought, pressing a hand against her mouth.

Through the knothole she saw a bulbous, eyeless head, raised high and waving left and right as though sniffing the air. A pinkish ridge of bone ran from its shoulders and down its spine to a
gristly spike of tail. Hazel watched with horrified fascination as it loped on all fours towards the Hedge, exposed muscles bunching and stretching.

‘Rawhead, wait.’ It was a man’s voice – something Hazel had never heard before.

The demon stopped and turned its blank face towards the speaker. A tall figure swept into the clearing, face hidden by a dark hood. A cloak of black feathers, shining like an oil slick, brushed
the ground as he passed the tree.

He must be the demon’s handler
, Hazel thought
.

As the man knelt down next to the demon and draped a pale arm over its neck, Hazel saw that his right thumb was missing.

‘I need the girl alive and unharmed, just like her mother,’ said the man, stroking the demon’s jaw. ‘And bring Hecate’s familiar too, if you can find it. The ginger
cat.’ He moved his mouth to within inches of the demon’s face. ‘
Try
to refrain from eating it.’

With a thrust of its legs, the demon was gone, swallowed up by the Hedge. Bramley shuddered, his trembling whiskers tickling Hazel’s ear.

The man stood up; for a moment his gaze fell on the oak tree. Hazel looked into eyes so black they looked like empty sockets. Then he turned and seeped back through the trees like smoke in the
dark.

Hazel slumped to her knees, her heart racing.

‘Come on,’ Bramley whispered. ‘Time, I think, to go.’

‘The full might of the Order of Witch Hunters is set